I was on the phone with you last night, verging on the edge of tears, which you know doesn't happen often. I sat down on the wooden steps in my backyard and tucked my feet out of view, because you also know that I hate the way my toes look in the winter. I told you what happened just hours earlier; I was lying next to him [lets call him Michael] on his bed, talking about god knows what. Then I started to describe parts of my past, how impulsive and broken I used to be. I told him very dark things about myself, because I knew he needed to know the girl he was falling in love with.
He responded bitterly.
He still loved me, but he saw me in a different light now. I was raw, naked, exposed. He saw what I used to see in myself, and that struck a chord of fear somewhere inside me that I haven't felt in a long time.
"And it's like, I couldn't look at him, you know? Because he was so beautiful, and the 'bad' parts about him aren't even that bad, while my bad is just plain dark." I said through the phone. You were patient, you were listening with that deep and intricate mind that I have grown to love so much.
"I was so flustered, so nervous and angry and embarrassed at the same time. So I found a large pile of different kinds of cards that were strewn across his floor, I think his dad or brother knocked it over earlier that day or something. So I just started sorting these cards, the blues and the pinks, the reds and the purples. It's not like I actually wanted to organize them, I just knew I had to do something to busy myself so I wouldn't have to think about anything.
"Then he started saying 'Emily, c'mon please just come lay with me' or 'stop doing that, please just talk to me', stuff like that. I asked if I should go home. He said no. So I just sorted these hundreds of cards on the floor."
I was becoming breathless at this point, my words came out slurred, much faster than I meant for them to.
"But then I just started thinking, 'isn't this exactly what I did last year that led me to do such horrible things?' Because you know, after that horrible relationship I had, I spent the next year busying myself with anything in front of me, that way I wouldn't have to look at myself or deal with myself. And that was kind of what I was doing just now, only instead of kissing guys who are supposed to be loving other girls, I'm sorting cards like an idiot."
There was a long pause that sat in my stomach like a rock. The silence rang louder than my words, it pierced my mind with a sharp, silver blade. A single tear slid down my cheek.
"You're my best friend, [lets call you Vineyard, because you know I love to call you by that for no apparent reason]."
Then, your voice.
"Yes I know. Just take 3 deep breaths, okay?"
As usual, I felt silly. But as usual, I did what you told me to. And, as usual, it worked.
"You're not that person anymore. You were broken, and that made you want to indulge your inner demons. Instead of fighting them, you embraced them," You said in a low voice that made my ribs stop vibrating. You've always had a way of calming me down, Vineyard.
"I love him," I said.
"I know."
"You're my best friend."
"I know."
There was another pause as I looked up to the blackish-blue sky. It almost seemed as if someone had draped a sheet of royal blue satin across the universe. You called me at around 10:00 pm, but by this point it was probably 10:35.
"He loves you," you said.
"I know."
"He's just afraid."
"I know."
"My phone is dying, I'm gonna text you, okay?"
"Okay, Em."
And with that I pulled my phone away from my ear and set it down on my lap. After a few moments of breathing and collecting myself again, I quietly walked upstairs and climbed into bed.
Michael had texted me.
I'm sorry for being an ass today. It's just a part of your past. I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things now, because I promise I'll be better. What I did was wrong. I'm so sorry. I love you.
"I love you"
I felt my eyes water once again, and I thought of you. I knew Michael had talked to you, you've always had a way of bringing him to his senses when he had problems like this. He's lucky to have you as a best friend.
I texted you:
You talked to him.
You replied:
He needed to get his head out of his ass.
I laughed, but suddenly grew very quiet. I said:
I know this must be hard for you.
And again, there was another pause. I knew I shouldn't have said that, you and I both know that there is more to our friendship than simply "friends". I know you fell in love with me, you told me that one rainy Wednesday when we sat on that bench, remember? Your shoes were brown with mud and mine were soggy with rain. You said, "sometimes I just wish I met you first", and it shattered my heart, because you're such a wonderful person. I still haven't washed the brown out of my shoes.
It's not. Really. Sometimes I get mad, but then I realize, "hey, self. She's with someone who I know will take care of her and love her". And that's all that matters. I'm happy that you are both happy.
...Thank you, Vineyard. It means a lot to me.
You and i, we're too similar. That's why we make great friends, but we'd be horrible as anything else. Michael makes you a better person, he gives you a reason to fight your demons. And you do the same for him. It's beautiful, really. So honestly, I'm happy.
In the next few moments we both fell asleep.
And the thing is, you were right. we are too similar. Shockingly so, in fact. But it's a wonderful feeling to love people who love you back, and you know that I love you. You're like a big brother to me, even though you're a whole eight months younger than I am.
Thank you, Vineyard.
